Live Broadcast
by ruth baulding
Summary: A memoir detailing an unexpected but memorable intrusion.


**Live Broadcast**

_For T. - ars imitatur naturam._

* * *

Freedom.

That's what the Confederacy of Independent Systems promised us all when they took over this sector. Sorry: _annexed_ this sector. I was never very good at that kind of jargon- it's all the same to me whether you annex me or run me over rough-shod or what have you. I mean, pretty much when a guy in uniform is holding a blaster to your head and telling you what to say over the holo-net channel, you go with the flow. So _annexing_ it was, and is.

Anyway, my point is this: I told the folks on thirty-seven minor population centers, spread over six systems, that we were getting a big old load of freedom, gratis, courtesy of the Seps. CIS. Whatever. I had to tell them because of the guy with the blaster. I was the lucky girl who got to make the announcement because I happen to work here. It was a good job until the _annexation._ Basically, I would come in, keep the equipment running, put together a nice program for the day and the early evening shift: music, vids, advertising, some talk, some news. The usual – this is a small holo-network and people out here on the Rim have straightforward tastes. I liked being a holo-jockey. It was fun. Easy-going. I had a lot of freedom.

Oops, sorry. Freedom is what we have now.

Yeah, right. Not that I'm complaining. Nobody got executed or imprisoned here… we're not belligerent enough for that kind of stuff. That would take _guts._ And frankly, most of us don't care about this galactic conflict enough to risk our lives for one side or the other. Out here, most folks are decent simple people trying to make their way in the universe. Republic, Confederacy, Anarchist Syndicate – you name it, we just pay the taxes.

And it's not like the taxes went down after _annexation,_ either. Just saying.

So after the blaster-to-the-head incident things calmed down, went back to business as usual. Whether or not we're independent of the Republic's tyranny, people still want their music and vids and talk shows and so on. And I need the job, so I was relieved they weren't shutting down the station. Just a few things changed. We were all informed that the military now had the right to drop in and send special transmissions using the long distance broadband – but they hardly ever did, and it came down to an hour or two break for me when they did, so no big deal. I grabbed a caff, kicked my feet up and waited for them to finish their business the few times they bothered to use the privilege... Hey – I guess my little holo-net channel is the best comm infrastructure out here. How bout that?

That's not to say there weren't a _couple _new regulations that got under my skin. We aren't allowed to bring private datapads to work anymore. Really? I'm stuck up here in the broadcast center for twelve standard at a stretch. Mostly just keeping things running and popping on to make a live announcement here and there – and now I'm not allowed so much as a 'pad to while away the hours? Great. And then the kicker. No more "casual dress." This is now supposedly an installment of the CIS naval operation, so we've got to present a certain image. To the, what? _Two_ sentient beings who occasionally show up here at the station? It's a holo-net channel, for kark's sake, not an ambassadorial banquet hall. So I had to ditch my Corellian lounge apparel. And wear khakis.

Nice. That's what _freedom_ gets you.

Well, that and some strange visitors. Did I mention that we had Jedi visitors the other day?

Yeah, no chisszzk. Here's what happened:

I had just got the afternoon program set up and running – mostly music, with a few extras thrown in here and there, sponsored blurbs and a quick local news update – and left the droid automated system in charge. I remember pouring out some caff then realizing it was tepid. Well, the heat unit and the conservator are in the break room on the lower level – next to the storage bays and maintenance shafts. So I nipped down there to warm up my cuppa and maybe grab some blue cream before the next segment started.

I was just banging the door shut on the heater when I heard it: a bump and scuffle in the _vents_. Dismissed it, naturally. I mean, we're in the middle of nowhere – you've gotta have an ion free transmission zone for an effective relay base so these network spires tend to be set up on the back forty of no man's land – and there's more mynocks than you can count anywhere near the pulse amplifier fields. They actually hire this guy to come cart off the corpses after the poor things overload. Vermin are a way of life at the station, so I rummaged in the conservator for some snackage – I get the munchies when I'm bored, same as anyone else, and ten more hours up there without a 'pad was sounding like a lot of boredom to me.

But there wasn't much in there – a moldy old Nautolan _sashuki_ roll, left by a colleague, and a couple carbonated sucro-fizz drinks, not my thing. I was just sort of standing there bemoaning the general lack of amenities in my workplace when the _ceiling_ panels cave in and two guys just drop out of the overhead vents onto the floor.

I screamed and threw the carton of blue cream at the intruders. Not much of a weapon, I know, but it was all I had. And they'd scared the living daylights out of me.

The nearest one snapped his hand up and caught the pathetic projectile in one hand. Robotic hand, actually – I could tell by the GripMax ™ protective glove he had. My brother works in the prosthetics industry, so I can spot top of the line merchandise without blinking an eye. He was this _kid,_ about twenty years old and dressed all in black – I think I was just gaping like an idiot, and staring at the places where the thick blue cream had spattered on his dark clothes, when he darts forward, faster than you can see, and clamps one hand over my mouth and the other one around my waist.

Yeah, I kicked and bit, but the robot hand was the one my teeth sank into and _stars_ if he wasn't strong as a bull nerf. I mean I'm not exactly a starved little waif and I've taken self-defense classes and all, but he just held me there like I was a struggling felix kit. My feet didn't even touch the floor when I tried to kick him.

"Don't even think about it," he growled into my ear.

Well, of course I was thinking about it. Screaming wouldn't do much good, seeing as there wasn't a soul within twenty klicks, but we do have a remote emergency signal for break-ins and stuff like that. The planetary security might show up , or maybe even the CIS now that this was technically a military outpost. But obviously, thinking about it wasn't going to be enough in this situation.

So that's when I got a good look at the other guy. He was a bit shorter, older, and less scary than the first one. He had a brown cloak, with some singe marks on the sleeve. I noticed that bit; don't ask me why. And he had this odd expression in his bearded face like he was listening to a private comm feed or something, though I didn't see a relay on him. Might have been an implant, I guess. But I got the feeling he wasn't using technology at all. Just a weird shivery feeling down my spine, is all – but I think I was right.

"She's alone. You can let her go," he said, finally.

I dropped to the floor, a little awkwardly. I mean, Number One just dumped me without any warning or ceremony. I looked up at him, and his friend, and from my perspective on the decks I caught a couple interesting details. One: They both had _lightsaber _ hilts attached to their belts. Two: They wore matching antique martial arts uniforms, except in different colors. Three: they were both _gorgeous._ Okay, so sue me. A girl can't help noticing. I'm only human.

The older one extended a hand and helped me to my feet, like a perfect gentleman. I guess I should have refused or something but I was still reeling from the realization of what was going on. "You're Jedi!" I squeaked.

"Yup," the younger one said, all laconic, just like that.

Well, I started backing into a corner. I know a lot of it is propaganda, but you should _ see_ some of the battle footage and the reports of atrocities the Seps posted on the 'net.. downside of being a holo-jockey : you're always up to speed on the news.

"We have no intention of harming you," the older Jedi said.

Easy for him to say. Just letting them _be_ here, in this technically military outpost of the CIS, was probably an act of treason. I no way wanted to be caught red-handed conspiring with traitors. "Uh," was about all I could get my mouth to say.

Then the tall, young one stepped forward, radiating power. He mesmerized me, in a weird way. "But your _cooperation_ would be appreciated."

Sounded like a threat to me, but they hadn't actually whipped out a blaster – or those laser sword things- yet, so that was a step up from the first CIS visitors I received here. "I can't help you!" I stammered out, appealing to the gentler and less intimidating of the pair. I hoped he would understand my predicament. I didn't want to get in the way of anyone's fight, but I didn't want to be arrested for conspiracy to treason either.

"Well then. I hope you won't mind us helping ourselves." He gave me this charming grin, right there just like that, and damn if I wasn't thinking some fairly treasonous thoughts on the spot.

Still, self-preservation is a powerful instinct. I found myself puffing back up the stairs to the station control room on their heels. "Hey! Hey! That's authorized personnel only, you know!" As though _that_ was going to stop two elite operatives from the _Jedi Order._ But a girl has to try.

They ignored me. The young guy – the one in blacks – just waved a hand at the control station's door and overrode the magneto-lock. By magic, I swear – there's no other explanation. And then they just sauntered right on in, one after the other.

I followed, because what else was I supposed to do?

The young Jedi made a frowny face at the outside wall. There' s a narrow viewport up above the console – you can't see much, but it's something. "How long do you think we have, Master?" he asked.

Yeah, he really did call the other guy "Master," just like they were something out of an episode of Crouching Nexu Hidden Draigon. That's a good show – I watch it sometimes when I'm bored. Or I would, if I was allowed my 'pad.

The older Jedi tossed his cloak over my chair, all nonchalant. "That depends whether you've managed to sabotage the _correct_ vehicles this time, does it not?" he retorted. His tone of voice was a bit dry, not quite serious, but not quite jesting either. Edgy, subtle.

His friend snorted. "You're never going to let me live Devaron down, are you?"

Made me want to know what happened on Devaron, but I never found out.

The one called Master raised an eyebrow. He did that really well. "I should think not," he replied, repressively.

"Whatever." The handsome dark haired one leaned over the holo-feed display and started tweaking and routing. I must have shouted at him at that point – I mean, it takes _forever _to get all that stuff aligned right and he just _interrupted _the afternoon program without so much as a by-your-leave – because he turned on the spot and fixed me with this incredibly intense glower.

I backed off.

"Can you manage it?" the older Jedi asked, in his turn, joining his friend at the console.

And then the younger guy gave him this cocky sassafrass look – and fired back, 'Depends whether you stole the _correct_ security codes this time, doesn't it?"

I thought the one in charge – 'Master' sounds like _in charge_ to me – was going to get mad at that, but he surprised me again. He just made this dark chuckling sound deep in his throat and smiled some more.

He had dimples underneath the beard, by the way. Totally killer cute.

"Ah, well," he tossed off. "What's the worst that can happen?"

The younger one shrugged, all off-handed. "…Total mayhem?"

"Our speciality."

They both grinned like a couple of loons. You'd think they were having the time of their life, forcibly commandeering an enemy communications outpost.

I felt like it was incumbent upon me to _do _something. I couldn't just let them waltz in here and take over. I mean, that's what I did when the CIS showed up, but this was different. Somehow. They hadn't really threatened me, so it felt like I was a conspirator, by default. And that would get me fired, and worse. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I hollered, hands on hips.

"Uh… using your holo-relay signal to piggyback a top secret transmission to Republic forces standing a few degrees off Mescall. And jamming the Seppie comms along the way," the young Jedi informed me, without even bothering to look over his broad, sable-clad shoulder.

"And what makes you think I'm just gonna stand here and _permit_ you to do that?" I bellowed, with a lot more umph than I really felt.

The older one gestured widely with one hand. "Surely as a holo-jockey you have heard all the rumors – we are desperate, violent, ruthless men who will stop at nothing to oppress the innocent and enslave the powerless. You would not wish to _impede_ such reprehensible villains, would you?"

He was enjoying himself way too much, I thought. But I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. He looked serious. But his eyes did twinkle a bit, and it's not like he even had a hand on that weapon of his. I wondered if I could catch one of them unawares, jump them from behind and grab one of those laser swords and –

"Don't try it," the Jedi advised me.

I took his advice.

"Okay," the younger one said, springing up again. He was full of nervous energy, that one. "That'll do it for a couple hours. He turned to me. "You don't have a datapad, do you?"

Ha. "Nope," I answered, crossing my arms.

"Kriff. Told you we should have brought Artoo," the dark haired Jedi groused.

His companion made a scoffing noise. "Your astromech would not fit through those vent shafts. Really, Anakin."

Yeah, the younger one's name was Anakin. Which rang a ball. Suddenly I knew exactly who I was looking at. "Hey!" I shouted, "You're –"

"Yes, we are." The bearded one cut me right off – that would be Kenobi, by the way. I'm not kidding.

"….So, uh, now what happens?" I asked. It was going to take a lot of work to undo the mess they made, and I had a queasy feeling that people like me were expendable and had to be disposed of once the job was done. That's how it goes in all the espionage holo-flicks. My heart started pounding pretty hard right there. These two Jedi seemed _nice, _ almost – but they were armed and dangerous and had magical powers. And I was technically in the employ of the CIS.

Skywalker – it really was him, I swear - glanced at the window, with this scowl on his face. "We were expecting a droid, actually," he explained.

Kenobi hastened to cut him off. "Yes, well, defenestration isn't a viable option, Anakin. I assume, Ms, ah…?"

I wasn't about to divulge my real name. There is such a thing as an intelligence report. "T," I said. My imagination wasn't exactly on fire at the moment, understandably enough.

"T. I assume you would prefer not to be implicated, either by omission, or commission, in this little affair?"

"Hells, no!" I yelped. It occurred to me that he might blackmail me into something I really didn't want to do… my mind started racing like mad.

But Kenobi was just a tad apologetic. "In that case, I'm afraid we're going to have to tie you up in the basement. For your own protection."

It really was the only workable option. So that's how I ended up letting two Jedi warriors truss me up and leave me curled in a corner of the storage bays down below the station. They were fairly gentle about it, actually, and for some weird reason I kind of enjoyed the role-playing. I mean, how often does a girl get to be bound and gagged by two drop-dead hunks?

They left the way they came , and it wasn't more than a couple hours before the CIS special task force arrived to fix the damage. They released me and bought my story about being overpowered and helpless to interfere. It wasn't really too far from the truth, anyway. When the techs got finished putting stuff to rights, and the commanding officer had finished cussing his head off and having an apoplectic fit all over the place, they left too.

And I went back to the late evening shift. I mean, the show must go on. And it was tidy and clean and quiet up here again. I even fetched my caff out of the break room and re-heated it.

I would have thought it was all a hallucination, actually, except for one thing. The older Jedi – Kenobi – he left his cloak on my chair. It makes for a good snuggle up here late at night when the therm regulator isn't working, and it almost makes up for the new dress code.

The war is still dragging on out there, and we're still liberated , thanks to the glorious Confederacy – that's what the news report says, anyhow. As for me, I've seen some of the story behind the scenes, the other side of the debate, the up close and personal viewpoint. And what a viewpoint it was.

You won't see that on the holo-net.

In the meanwhile, life goes on. I've still got these uncomfortable khakis, and no datapad, and a boring shift with nothing to do but line up the evening show and watch the monitors.

And maybe daydream a little, about the Republic barging back in here and _annexing _ the entire sector in the name of democracy and unity and all that . My job will still be boring, the taxes will still be high, most folks out here just won't give a damn about the war raging on out there. Not that I would ever say this on the air, but it would just be nice to have a bit more… freedom around here.

Or Jedi. Either one would suit me fine.


End file.
